Get Smart 7 - Max Smart - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold

by William Johnston

  “Just in the nick of time,” 99 said, greatly relieved. “If we’d been a minute later, Max, we might have missed him.” She started out the door.

  “Hold it!” Max said, putting a hand on 99’s arm, stopping her. “See those two men a few steps behind the Professor? I think they’re tailing him.”

  “But, Max, look at their uniforms—they’re letter carriers.”

  “Exactly what they want us to think, 99. But notice how lively they’re stepping. Doesn’t that strike you as somewhat suspicious?”

  “You’re right, Max. A real letter carrier plods, doesn’t he?”

  “And for good reason,” Max agreed.

  “Yes—all that walking he does, day in and day out.”

  “That’s not the reason, 99. The reason is that he wants to delay all the important letters as long as he can. Haven’t you ever heard the post office slogan—The mail must go through?”

  “But, Max—”

  “The complete slogan is: The mail must go through a long series of intentional delays in order to make sure that important letters do not get delivered until days after they’re expected, thus driving the intended recipient out of his ever lovin’ mind and making him more appreciative of his fine postal service when the letter finally is delivered.”

  “I can understand why they shortened it,” 99 said. “But, Max, if those men in uniform aren’t letter carriers, what are they? Do you think—”

  “KAOS agents, 99. No doubt about it. As you can see, they’re rapidly closing in on Professor von BOOM. Within seconds, they will probably grab him from behind, drag him into a waiting limousine (black), and speed away with him to their hideout.”

  “Max! We have to do something!”

  “Do we really, 99? Frankly, that sounds pretty exciting. I’d like to see it.”

  “Max, remember . . . duty!”

  “Oh, yes . . . that. Duty can certainly spoil some fun times, can’t it, 99.” He gestured resignedly. “Oh, well . . . Let’s go, 99. You take the KAOS agent on the left, and I’ll take the KAOS agent on the right. Unless, of course, you have a preference. If you’d rather have the KAOS agent on the right, I wouldn’t mind at all taking the KAOS agent on the left.”

  “I’m not particular, Max. But shouldn’t we hurry?”

  “Haste makes waste, 99. First, let’s get a decision on which KAOS agent belongs to who. We’d feel pretty silly if we rushed over there and both grabbed the KAOS agent on the left, and the KAOS agent on the right, in the ensuing melee, got away. Or, vice-versa, if we rushed over there and both grabbed the KAOS agent on the right, and—”

  “I’ll take the one on the left, Max,” 99 said wearily.

  “I just hope, 99, that, on the way, you won’t take advantage of the woman’s prerogative to change her mind. If you did, and decided to switch to the KAOS agent on the—”

  “Max! They’ve grabbed Professor von BOOM!”

  “There are a lot of people who haven’t heard the old saying, ‘Haste makes waste,’ ” Max said. “Those KAOS agents, for example, probably haven’t the slightest notion that they’re bungling this.”

  99 rushed through the doorway. “Max, hurry!”

  “Coming, 99!”

  Max and 99 dashed from headquarters, worked their way through the passers-by, and darted out into the street. At that same moment, they heard the ear-splitting roar of an engine. Max halted, stopping 99, too.

  “Max! What is it?”

  “Did you hear that? It must be some kind of a warning.”

  “Warning? Warning?” 99 said frantically. “What kind of a warning?”

  “You’ll notice, 99, that we’re crossing in the middle of the block. We should have gone to the corner.”

  “But, Max, if we’d— Max!” She suddenly pointed. Max looked in the direction she was indicating and discovered the source of the ear-splitting sound. A huge mail truck was bearing down on them, its engine roaring.

  “Uh-huh,” Max smiled knowingly. “It fits the picture very neatly. You understand, of course, what’s happening.”

  “Well . . . I can sort of guess,” 99 said. “I think we’re going to be run down. Is that right, Max?”

  “I’m afraid you’re indulging in some very shallow thinking, 99,” Max said. “There’s a great deal more to it than that. In fact, what we’re involved in here is a typical example of the KAOS modus operandi.”

  “Really, Max?” 99 said interestedly. “What does that mean?”

  “Modus operandi, 99, is Latin for ‘the way they do it.’ The Roman cops, back in ancient times, used the phrase a lot. After they figured out how a crime was committed, they would refer to the method as the modus operandi. One cop, for instance, would say to another cop, ‘How did they do it?’ And the other cop would reply, ‘modus operandi.’ ”

  “Max, that truck is getting much closer.”

  “Of course, 99. It’s all part of the plan. When those KAOS agents spotted the Professor at the post office and decided to abduct him, they realized that the odds were that they would have to contend with you and me. So, they plotted to knock us out of the action. They sent one of their men to hijack a mail truck, and then to wait, with the engine running, until he saw us come out of headquarters. His task, at that point, would be to run us down.”

  “That’s amazing, Max!”

  “Elementary, 99. The fact that that truck is bearing down on us, and the fact that I recognize the man behind the wheel as a KAOS agent, makes the deduction fairly obvious.”

  “Shouldn’t we step back to the curb, Max?”

  “Let’s consider the consequences. If we do step back to the curb, that truck will pass by us just as the limousine arrives. Our view of the scene of the crime at that specific moment will be obscured. And, as a result, we will be unable to get the license number of the limousine.”

  “But, on the other hand, Max—”

  “Yes . . . on the other hand. On the other hand, if we don’t step back to the curb, it seems very likely that we’ll be run down and killed. Although, without having handy the actual statistics on the results of accidents involving trucks and pedestrians, I wouldn’t want to commit myself on that. There’s a chance that we might come out of it only maimed for life.”

  “Max, if we’re going to vote on this, I think I’ll cast my ballot for stepping back to the curb.”

  “Haste makes waste, 99. I think I have a preferable solution.” He pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster. “What KAOS didn’t reckon on,” he said, “was my crack marksmanship. Now, watch this carefully, 99,” he said, aiming the pistol in the direction of the oncoming truck. “See that bright metal badge on the driver’s cap? I’m going to aim the bullet so that it strikes that badge at just the right angle and ricochets. The force of the impact will stun the driver and in a state of unconsciousness he will remove his foot from the accelerator.”

  “I see. And that will stop the truck. But how will that help Professor von BOOM, Max?”

  “After hitting the badge,” Max continued, “the bullet will veer off and strike that metal foot-scraper at the bottom of the post office steps. Once again, it will ricochet. It will then pass through the right wrist of the KAOS agent on the left, making him drop his gun, and then through the fleshy calf of the right leg of the KAOS agent on the right, forcing him to fall, and, in the tumble, drop his gun.”

  “Max, that’s fabulous!” 99 enthused. “I can hardly believe it.”

  “I’m not finished, 99.”

  “Oh . . . sorry. What then, Max?”

  “The bullet will strike the cement sidewalk and ricochet once more. It will hit that lamp post, then that U.S. Army recruiting sign, then the brass knob on the door of that shop on this side of the street. Meanwhile, the limousine will arrive. And at that juncture, the bullet will ricochet off that mail box, and then crash through the windshield of the limousine and hit the driver square between the eyes, thereby eliminating the last of the kidnappers and saving the life of Professor Wor
mser von BOOM—not to mention, as a bonus, ensuring victory for our glorious nation in the space race.”

  “Max . . . you better shoot,” 99 warned. “That truck is almost on us!”

  “Just a second, 99. I think the gun is jammed.”

  “Max! Do something! Hurry!”

  Max got down on his knees. “Maybe if I bang it on the cement,” he said. He rapped the butt of the gun against the street. There was the sound of a shot.

  “Maybe we better get out of here,” Max said. “I think they’re shooting at us, 99.”

  “Max, that was your gun! Look!”

  The bullet from Max’s pistol hit the left front fender of the truck and ricocheted. It bounced off the post office building, returned, and smashed through a window of an antique shop, where it rang a set of Indian temple bells, then struck a tarnished tea kettle and ricocheted again. After emerging from the antique shop, the bullet hit, in rapid succession, the door handle of a passing automobile, a glass paperweight inside a box being carried by a department store delivery boy, a Coca Cola sign, Dick Tracy’s two-way radio wristwatch, a half-dollar being flipped by an old-timey motion picture actor, and the pure gold collar on a fat lady’s French poodle. Speeding merrily on its way, it then steered toward the antique shop once again.

  Meanwhile, a crowd was gathering. And, fortunately, the mail truck that had been bearing down on Max and 99 had screeched to a halt. The KAOS agent at the wheel was leaning out the window, fascinated by the erratic progress of the bullet.

  Max and 99 were watching, too. But they were becoming restless.

  “Shouldn’t we go, Max?” 99 said. “We still have that packing to do.”

  “All right, 99. I suppose there’s no real reason to stick around.”

  “Oh, look, Max—there’s the limousine.”

  “Mmmmm, yes. Nice looking car.”

  The limousine had pulled up near where the two KAOS agents and Professor von BOOM were standing, following the antics of the bullet. The driver got out and approached them. The trio of KAOS men held a brief discussion, during which one of them pointed toward the antique shop, into which the bullet had disappeared. A moment later, the bullet emerged, and the third KAOS man joined the first two in observing it as it headed in the direction of the halted truck.

  “Max . . .”

  “All right, 99, let’s go.”

  They crossed the street. The bullet hit the badge on the truck driver’s cap, knocking him unconscious, then ricocheted again, shooting straight upward.

  Max and 99 reached the KAOS men and Professor von BOOM. They were shielding their eyes against the sun, watching the fastly disappearing bullet. Max got out a notepad and tore out three sheets of paper. On each one, he printed: “I am a KAOS agent. Take me to Control headquarters.” He then pinned the notes to the KAOS agents’ jackets.

  “Done and done,” Max said, pleased. “Ready, 99?”

  “Any time you are, Max.”

  Max got Professor von BOOM by the arm and he and 99 escorted him away. The Professor shook his head, coming out of the daze.

  “Back to normal?” Max asked.

  “Yes . . . fine . . .” von BOOM said fuzzily.

  “That was pretty close,” Max said. “We almost lost you.”

  “Only Max’s quick thinking saved you,” 99 said.

  Max smiled. “Thank you for the compliment, 99. I hope you learned something back there about dealing with KAOS.”

  “I hope so, too, Max. But, I’m not sure—it all happened so fast.”

  “Magnificent shooting,” von BOOM said. “Absolutely stupendous. How did you do it?”

  “Modus operandi,” Max replied.

  3.

  LATER THAT DAY, with bags packed, Max, 99 and Professor Wormser von BOOM reached the pier and boarded the ship that would take them to Africa. Max and the Professor had a stateroom together, and 99 was alone. As Max and von BOOM were unpacking, Max said, “If you’ve never sailed on an ocean liner before, Professor, I can give you a few tips on some of the strange shipboard customs.” There was no reply. Looking around, Max discovered that von BOOM was gone. He thought back over what he had said, then left the stateroom and went to the mess, where he found von BOOM seated alone in the huge empty room waiting to be served dinner. Max led him back to the stateroom and the unpacking continued.

  On the first day at sea, von BOOM wandered off and was eventually found a total of six times. Disgusted, Max decided that he and the Professor would remain in their cabin during the rest of the trip. But one whole day in seclusion was too much. So, on the third day, Max and von BOOM left the cabin and joined 99 on deck, where, disguised in dark glasses, they reclined in deckchairs, staring out at the ocean.

  “Big deal,” Max complained. “We had the same view from the cabin porthole—only it was smaller and rounder.”

  “Isn’t this sea air wonderful, though, Max?” 99 said.

  Max sniffed. “It smells like the inside of a salt shaker.”

  99 turned her attention to von BOOM. “Incidentally, Professor,” she said, “while we were in the secret passageways below headquarters, what was the key word that Max used that sent you out looking for the post office?”

  “Line,” von BOOM replied.

  “Oh, yes, I mentioned the line on my hand,” Max said. He frowned. “Line? What’s the connection with post office?”

  “Whenever I’m in a hurry, there’s always a line at the stamp window,” von BOOM explained.

  “That makes—” Max began.

  “Look!” 99 interrupted, pointing into the sky. “Isn’t that the most interesting bird you’ve ever seen! It’s so big. And such odd wings.”

  Von BOOM leaned forward, squinting. “As a scientist, I’d say that’s a phenomenon,” he said.

  “It’s the wrong color for a phenomenon,” Max said. “I know a little bit about birds myself. And that is nothing more than a fat black seagull.”

  “It’s getting closer,” 99 said. “It looks as if it’s flying straight toward the ship.”

  “Those are not wings,” von BOOM said. “That’s a propeller.”

  Max hooted. “Your memory is worse than I thought, Professor,” he said. “If you can remember ever seeing a seagull with a propeller—”

  “It’s a phenomenon!” von BOOM insisted.

  “Seagull!”

  “Phenomenon!”

  “Seagull!”

  “Phenomenon!”

  “Helicopter!”

  Max and von BOOM turned to 99. “Helicopter?” they said in unison.

  “Just look!” she replied.

  The helicopter was settling down to the deck only a few yards away. Two men were peering out from the glass, bubble-type cockpit.

  “Or . . . it could be a passenger pigeon,” Max. said limply.

  The helicopter touched down. The hatch opened, and, leaving the engine running, the two men jumped down and approached Max, 99 and von BOOM.

  “This looks like them,” the first man said.

  The second man got a slip of paper from his pocket and studied it, then looked closely at Max, 99 and von BOOM. “Could be,” he said. “Let’s just check it out—one Agent 86, one Agent 99, and one old guy who looks like he needs a keeper. Check?”

  “Check,” the first man replied.

  The second man put the piece of paper away, then drew a pistol. “Agent 86 and Agent 99, you stay,” he said. “Von BOOM, you come with us.”

  “KAOS!” 99 cried.

  “Or . . . very large baby seagulls,” Max suggested.

  “With a gun, Max?”

  “99, tell me, exactly what proof do you have that there are no juvenile delinquents in the seagull family?”

  “Cut the chatter!” the second man commanded. He yanked von BOOM to his feet. “Let’s cut out, Pops!” he snarled.

  The two men backed toward the waiting helicopter, taking von BOOM with them, holding the gun on Max and 99.

  “Max! Aren’t you going to do something?”
99 urged.

  “Right now, there’s nothing I can do,” Max replied. “But I certainly know what I’m going to do when we get back to land.”

  “What, Max?”

  “Read up on seagulls.”

  The kidnappers and their prize reached the helicopter. They hustled von BOOM aboard, then closed the hatch. At that instant, Max leaped up and raced forward. As the helicopter rose from the deck, he lunged forward and got a hold on the landing gear. The helicopter soared upward—with Max dangling below.

  “Max! You’ll be killed!” 99 screamed.

  Max shouted back. But his answer was lost. The helicopter had already become a speck in the sky.

  Summoning every ounce of his strength, Max clambered torturously up the landing gear. In time, he reached the hatch and rapped on it.

  One of the KAOS agents opened it. “Yeah?” he said nastily.

  “Avon calling,” Max gasped.

  “Hold it,” the KAOS agent said. He turned to his companion, the KAOS agent at the controls. “Let me see that piece of paper with the description on it,” he said. “There’s an Avon lady at the hatch that I got a suspicion I seen before.”

  For the KAOS agents, the delay was costly. While the first man was checking the description on the piece of paper, Max pulled himself up into the cockpit.

  “How am I described?” Max asked, looking over the first man’s shoulder.

  Curiosity was a mistake. For Max, the delay was costly. The KAOS agent, recognizing Max, pulled his gun and got the drop on him.

  “Okay, you can go out the same way you came in,” the KAOS agent ordered.

  Max looked back. It was at least a thousand-foot drop to the ocean.

  Max addressed the KAOS agent who was acting as pilot. “Could you lower this thing a little?” he said. “That first step looks a teensy-weensy bit high.”

  “It’s an optical illusion,” the pilot replied. “But, if you’re afraid of the fall, I’ll give you a little tip. Hold your arms out like—”

  Von BOOM had risen from his seat. And, as the KAOS agents and Max watched, intrigued, he stepped through the open hatchway and plummeted downward.